


The Immortal Kings

by BanishedOne



Series: Coma Baby [4]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-13 22:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16480754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanishedOne/pseuds/BanishedOne
Summary: Coming Soon





	The Immortal Kings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a teaser for Coma Baby, Part 2. Feel free to bookmark it if you have enjoyed part 1.

“What do we do now?” 

It was the masked figure in the corner who verbalized the most obvious, burning question on the minds of each desperate individual present. Their voice came in between deafening blasts which shook the wreckage where the hidden group had tucked themselves away, like rats skulking the half-flooded ruins of Hyrule Castle.

The caved-in catacombs trembled and flickered with crimson light, persistently pummelled by Guardian fire, like a blood red storm but all the more relentless. It did nothing to illuminate the dismal halls. The damp, narrow space where the group had crawled away was thick with dust from disrepair and now, destruction. With every passing second, the walls cracked and crumbled further.

The obscuring cloud in the darkness stole even the Zoras’ sharp sight, but Brivere kept his eyes focused on the unmistakable form of Estuu in the haze. The boy was bundled between worn, stone alters where bones of ancient Hylians had long turned to dust. He had his head tilted, his shoulder raised to an awkward position in an attempt to cover at least one of his sensitive ears. His only hand dared not stray from his weapon, his fingers tight on the foregrip and ready for a fight, as steady and steeled as the expression on his face.

In a burning, red flash, Estuu’s golden eyes met those of his brother across the small stretch of space between them; a rare moment of contact, which betrayed the boy’s questioning. It was just the same as the masked shadow who had posed the question first- Estuu also was eager for someone to speak a plan of escape, if there even could be such a plan. He did not look to the group in its entirety, nor their ranked leader, however; he looked to his brother.

With each passing second, the grasping, robotic claws from outside tore at the openings to the caverns, chipping away at the shelter that kept the group temporarily safe. The gleaming chrome of their tendrils stretched into the run, reaching for the prey ducked inside, flailing and clinking the sharp blades that adorned their feet, in the hopes of snagging helpless flesh.

The sword sheathed upon the Champion’s back brightly flashed in warning, crying out a mournful wail that came again and again, as though nobody else had noticed the impossible hoard of Guardians which had pinned the group down and were now digging them out, to drag them one by one to their doom. The sword’s calls would have to go unanswered, however, despite its pleas. It was as helpless on the back of its owner, as the Champion was helpless in the arms of the Zora Prince.

The Guardians had come in the night, perhaps mere hours after the ominous, burning orb of the Blood Moon ascended to peak height in the sky, rendering the Champion unable to fight, unable to flee. The machines had locked onto the group; they had been tracking them for days, running them like quarry until they were exhausted and worn out beyond all hope.

And now, their Champion had fallen. Under the Blood Moon’s shroud, he could not take up his blade. All he could do was gaze blindly into nothing, unreachable, unresponsive, and dependent entirely on the aid of his Zora lover for protection. Sidon clutched the Hylian tighter to his chest while the crumbling tunnel quaked again, shaking free rubble from the ceiling, which scattered across the dampened stone beneath their feet.

“Send me, my lord,” snapped the first of them who grew tired of cowering. Her voice was harsh and desperate, but fearless. The warrior kneeled before her huddled Prince, daringly meeting his own troubled stare with the burning ember of her single eye. Her spear was in-hand and ready, the butt of it striking the ground with determined fervor, which set the golden emblem upon her chest alight with a hopeful glow.

The two other holy emblems present cast a golden halo upon the group, answering the first as it activated. “What good are these gifts from the Goddesses if we don’t use them,” she growled, careful fingertips resting against her chest, to touch the source of the light. “I will hold off the hoard as best I can while the rest of you flee.”

“It’ll never work,” came the hasty objection of the masked shadow, who was seated a small stretch away from the Zoras, their back pressed into the deepest corner, as though to disappear into it. They bundled their legs against their chest, head shaking beneath the mask emblazoned with an inverse Eye of Truth.

“There’s hundreds of them. They’ll reduce you to ash before we’ve even cleared their tracking parameters,” the masked one uttered dismally. The mask they wore was enough to conceal their features, but not the troubled sound of their voice nor the emotion they had invested in convincing Betaal that she should not go.

They could walk out of here, and not one single machine would strike them down. But that was not true of their friends, so for their sake, the masked one remained.

“There must be another way,” breathed the Knight at the Prince’s side. Of all present, it was his voice that remained uncomfortably calm, though the furrow upon his features told the secret of his great and terrible fear- this night stood to claim the lives of two men he cherished more than all the world, as well as his younger sibling, who despite his own fighting proficiency, Brivere would never permit to stand alone, unprotected.

“..or something we can do,” Betaal added, her voice a growl, her eye squeezed shut in thought. Her bright fins flared, as though to display her eagerness to meet her foes in battle, to cleave their steel with her spear and yet.. in the darkness of her mind, she saw only the Calamity of a hundred years prior. She saw her father face but a single Guardian. She saw him fail and she felt his life wane in her arms. She knew that she was outmatched, even if she didn’t want to admit it.

“There is a way,” the masked one uttered, resolute and sure. Their certainty drew the attention of all others present, but even so, they hesitated to voice their plan, foolproof though it was. In their silence, the cavern shook again, one of the openings collapsing further, bringing the numerous, reaching arms nearer to them at last. 

The mechanical beasts fired upon the cavern again and again, pounding and chipping away at the crumbling stone, coming closer, ever closer.

The Zoras looked away from the masked one, to the entryway of the catacombs being torn apart, and to the ceiling caving, bound for collapse, then finally back to the Yiga clansman.

“Please,” Sidon spoke at last, his golden eyes never leaving the mask which served as a face for the shadow who’d willingly followed them into this hell. “If you have the answer, speak it,” he commanded yet beckoned at the very same time.

Brivere’s attention did not immediately return to the clansman, though, his eyes fixating on the numerous arms forged of shining steel. He watched them wriggle and writhe and reach. He watched them slash and claw at the dirt and rubble. He watched them weaken the battered structure which concealed the entire group, and in his mind, he went back for the hundredth time, to the memory of the grassland fox, hidden in its burrow from the pack of Maraudo wolves attempting to dig it out and tear it apart.

“The Champion,” the hesitant clansman finally offered the solution, knowing at least two very important things in regards to it; the first was that it would work without question, and the second was that it would be impossible to convince these Zoras to act upon it, even so. “..his death will send us back far enough to offer another chance to avoid this mess, entirely.”

The silence that followed confirmed the clansman’s fears. Then, after a long pause, Betaal was the one who dared to challenge the masked phantom.

“You want to murder him?” she uttered, the lines of her face deepening in disgust, in disappointment. “While he’s helpless?”

“Look at him!” the masked one gestured to Link, where he laid in Sidon’s arms, his neck slightly bent like a lifeless, baby bird, his head pressed to the white of the Prince’s chest. His breath was a calm, slow flow, his eyes only half lidded so that the blue from beneath his lashes stared, without sight. His body was as battered as all others present, and the danger he was in was equal, but even so, nothing could jar him from his trance, save for morning’s light.

“He’s not even conscious of what’s going on,” the Yiga clansman reasoned, desperate for the rest of the band to take their suggestion and make use of it. “He’ll be revived when its all said and done.”

“-but he would remember it,” Brivere interrupted, returning his crisp gaze to the shadow seated in the corner. “He will remember the pain and suffering, which our hands forced upon him.”

“We can’t and we won’t,” Sidon snapped with finality, the sharp edges of his teeth shining when he spoke, his pupils tightened to thin slits. His gaze only softened once he tilted his head downward, to look upon his vulnerable charge. He peered down at Link, lit by the golden light of the holy gifts the band had been bestowed. The Hylian had trusted his Zora lover, he’d unveiled every inch of vulnerability to Sidon and the Prince would never betray that trust.

Never.

“He isn’t something to be sacrificed for our sake,” the Prince stated, ending the discussion with that one, sharp declaration, while the Yiga shadow wilted in reply, their own masked visage falling into their trembling palms. “His suffering won’t be the price of our safety.”

“That is his very purpose!” the clansman spat, recoiling from their own harsh tone. They took a breath, steeling whatever patience remained within them. For a quick instant, they turned their sights to the image of Betaal, still grasping her spear in readiness, even knowing that there was no hope of fighting her way out of this. The woman couldn’t see the clansman’s moment of regard, and it was just as well.

“What other answer is there?” the masked one implored- soft, patient, reasonable.

“I have a suggestion of my own,” Brivere began, his tone weighty but sure. The golden Knight glanced one last time toward the entrance where the Guardians were steadily digging them out, to his silent brother, to the helpless Hylian, and at last to the face of his Prince. “..If my lord will permit it.”

;


End file.
